My big dreams of changing the world seem to have faded a long time ago. Truthfully they were more vainglorious than altruistic, but I had visions of being bigger than life and shaking up the status quo for the good of mankind.

I wanted to be the President of the United States. The Game Changer. The Peacemaker. The Leader of the Free World.

Time would teach me I had neither the taste for shady politics nor the teeth required to eat my way to the top. I’m not cut out for the world of backstabbing, trickster games and crooked deals. Who is?! Apparently some people just are. This game playing isn’t just a modern day pattern for international leadership. It stretches way back into the middle ages and straight through the ancients as the premier form of human government.

Name one prominent leader, aside from Jesus, who lead the people with 100% unarguable selflessness. You can’t. If you were able to travel back in time to study first hand all the very best candidates it should not be surprising to find their lives, even if well lived, littered with moments or seasons of dishonor, disgrace or disrepute. Add to that the perspectives of opposing people groups and you’ll be in the middle of an identity crisis. Some of those upstanding men and women have shocking secrets and others’ morality would be full of gaping holes. The problem is they all are humans. It’s the one enduring and strangely endearing commonality that history affords us.

Even among the leaders of my favorite church, there’s not one who could be counted wholly upright. They are all full of pock marks and inconsistencies- ugly spots we all have that we’d rather cover over or ignore. But the beauty of these marks and holes is they open our eyes to what it looks like to need forgiveness even when we’ve purposefully picked the wrong path, said the worst things, done the don’ts. If the messy parts aren’t acknowledged and owned we lose touch with forgiveness and, worse yet, how to forgive.

It’s amazing that the moment I regret something I’ve done I instantly have a new tenderness for like-offenders. This isn’t a a free pass for bad behavior. Nope. You don’t get to be an a-hole to your kid in the grocery store and have every haggard mom look the other way because they’ve probably felt that way, too. No. But what tends to happen is a tiny seed of compassion buries itself at the heart of one of those ugly spots. How did that tender girl grow up to be a monster? What does she need that she’s not getting? How can I help instead of sitting here with my critical thoughts? And what kind of crazy have those kids been doing all day that brought her to this lowly point? It might mean you hold your breath and pray or step in for the sake of the child. It also might mean there will be opportunities for you to offer a smile or a hand or a little grace. I know I could use some of that every day I get out of bed.

My list of shortfalls could take me around the world and back with leftovers. As a young kid I dabbled heavily in lying until my mom finally nabbed me. Rather than punishing me she asked my perspective on the problem. I was ashamed that it was so obvious and instead of upping my game, I left it behind. In second grade I cheated on a spelling test. I thought I was so sly holding the list on my lap, copying words onto the test sheet. My teacher silently picked up my paper as she walked around the room and never said one word. I got a big, fat zero and I never did it again.

Sure, I changed my ways in those scenarios and I was fairly young, but they are just the tip of an iceberg that could sink the iceberg that sank the Titanic. There are thousands more from just my formative years, too boring and commonplace to record. My young adult and adult life is littered with me- firsts and laziness, indiscretion with words and missed opportunities that are criminal. I am the first in line to be counted among the dishonorable, clenching my fists around the minuscule horde with my name on it, being right at the expense of others, disregarding the needs of my neighbor.

Come to think of it, I am the perfect candidate for president. I’m just as ugly and bent as the lot of them with scars that are prominent even if hidden. My only hope is I can be forgiven for my fiery darts and resolute mischief.

It’s this hope that anchors my soul and keeps me from half emptying my glass… and brings back that early, starry-eyed assumption that regular people can change the world even when they fall far short from perfect.